I was doing some adjusting to the site again yesterday.
(I know: again. Still, this time I think I am there. There being where I want and need to be, for just now.)
This morning feedburner sent me a post from the site, to my inbox (perhaps you got it too). It was from September last year, one of many posts I updated yesterday. I have no idea why it selected this one to send to you, to me.
That being said, it was precisely what I needed to hear, and read, as I move into another next chapter of writing here.
Permission to be ordinary, it said.
Yes, I replied, breathing out, in relief.
I read on.
What would happen if we allowed ourselves to write, think and create in an ordinary kind of way? How many more different voices would we then hear? How much material would live to see the light of day, not stopped before it was started? How much more richness would we uncover in all its glorious everyday ordinariness? Couldn’t we then stand back, relaxed in our human sized form, and watch the collective effort unfold, in all its wonder and glory?
Why yes, I thought, yes indeed.
That is it, entirely.
What I think, what I mean, what I wish to teach and pass on, what I wish to help be born and come to pass.
And what I was working on with the reconfiguration yesterday.
It also reminded me how powerful RSS is, and how much we take it for granted. Such a simple, powerful way to communicate with each other, to reach an in-box, to stay in touch.
Such a simple way that lets me still, after something of an absence and hiccups of stop-starting, reach you, talk to you, and be grateful to know that you might be reading and listening, still.
It reminded me what an astonishing medium blogging is: how it gives us permission to write and share, not needing to be brilliant, but just ordinary, human, extraordinary.
Woven connections between everyday human hearts.
Really simple sindication, at its best.